


Together

by Luka



Series: We're a team [4]
Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: People seem far more interested in Owen and George's private life than they do in Saracens' upcoming Champions' Cup final.





	Together

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, as usual, for swearing! And this is the fourth story in the series after Betrayal, United and Division (already posted). It takes place in the week before Saracens' European Champions' Cup final against Leinster.

They’d barely left the Saracens car park when George’s phone rang. He looked at it and grimaced, then answered it.

“Hello, mate … Shit … No … Yeah … OK, I suppose so. … How about ‘we were both disgusted by what happened and firmly believe that our private life is no one’s business but our own. And we’d like to say thanks to the people who stepped in immediately to support us.’ Yeah … Tuesday morning … OK. See you.”

Owen knew that media stuff typically turned George into monosyllabic mode. “Let me guess. Your PR bloke wants you to do an interview about what happened?”

“Yeah. He’s gonna give the media the quote for now, and I’ve stalled till Tuesday on an interview. With a bit of luck something else’ll come along and knock us off the front and back pages.”

Owen pulled the car into the side of the road and turned the engine off. He reached over and entwined his fingers with George’s. “Do you wish we’d kept quiet?”

George shook his head. “We knew there’d be shit, but someone had to speak out and at least we’re in a strong position. Cunts like Folau and Billy need people to stand up to them and challenge their prejudices. All that crap fades into insignificance when I remember that I’m gonna marry you and that’s worth any amount of shit fuckwits throw at us.”

Owen had to look away for a moment, and there was a lump in his throat the size of a bloody golfball. He kissed George’s palm and said softly: “Love you so bloody much, our kid.”

***

_Saracens have promised an investigation after a fan hurled homophobic abuse at the club’s fly-half Owen Farrell and his Leicester and England team-mate George Ford._

_The incident happened this afternoon at Allianz Park after the two were leaving the ground following Saracens’ Premiership win over Exeter. The two stars revealed last month that they are partners and are planning to get married, They are the only ‘out’ players in top-level rugby._

_A spokesman for the club said: “We will not tolerate inappropriate language being used against players, officials or fans. If the case is proven against the person in question, they’ll be banned from the club for life. Saracens is an inclusive club and we want it to stay that way.”_

_Leicester fly-half Ford said: “We were both disgusted by what happened and firmly believe that our private life is no one’s business but our own. And we’d like to say thanks to the people who stepped in immediately to support us.”_

_The incident was recorded by BBC multimedia reporter Zak Thomas. He said: “The guy appeared to be very drunk. He was yelling abuse at George Ford in particular. Club stewards stepped in quickly, and fans who witnessed the incident have said they will tell the club exactly what they heard and saw.”_

_Saracens captain Brad Barritt, who also witnessed the incident, said: “Gay players, officials and fans should be able to take part in rugby without that sort of abuse being thrown at them.”_

***

Their phones were buzzing constantly with fellow players and friends messaging to show their disgust at what had happened. Twitter had gone overboard as well. There were the usual homophobic fuckwits weighing in, but they were outnumbered by people expressing their support. As soon as they’d got back to Owen’s, they’d posted a selfie of them both to Instagram with the caption ‘Always together <3.’ Within half an hour there were 2,500 likes and just a handful of negative comments – and those had been swiftly slapped down by supportive people.

George’s phone rang and he glanced at the display before answering it. “Hello, mate. Yeah, we’re OK, thanks, The guy was a cunt. Sounds like Sarries will throw the book at him … Yeah, I know. Thanks … OK, right … Yeah … What? … I dunno, mate, not a clue … I’ll see you Tuesday, yeah? And make sure you’re ready!”

“Jonny?” guessed Owen.

George nodded. 

“He’s a good lad.”

“Yeah, Although what a brief diversion on South American agriculture had to do with the price of eggs, I have no bloody idea!”

“That boy’s head must be a scary place to be!”

“Welcome to my world!”

Owen’s phone rang and he picked it up. “All right, mate? Yeah … OK, fair enough. Thanks. I’ll tell him. See you Tuesday.” He set the phone down and pulled George into his arms. “That was Brad. He wanted to say sorry again for the comment earlier that you should have stayed away.”

“Yeah. What you said about his missus obviously made him think.”

“I hope so. He’s one of the good guys as a rule. Right, shall we go mad and have a takeaway?”

“Which means there’s nowt edible in your fridge!”

Owen grinned and opened up his laptop. “Indian, Chinese, Thai or pizza?”

“Pizza. We can run it off tomorrow. And no bloody olives or pineapple!”

***

Owen glanced at the digital display on the bedside clock. They’d gone to bed just after 11pm, and George had gone out like a light. Owen wasn’t surprised, given the tough game and all the travelling he’d had on Friday, followed by today’s shit. George was curled trustingly against him, and Owen knew that he was one of the few people with whom George felt able to let his guard down. He was what Owen’s mam called an old head on young shoulders. 

He suddenly had an urge to talk to his mam and wished she was still just down the road. It was just after midnight – maybe they wouldn’t have gone to bed yet. He wriggled out of bed, kissing the top of George’s head and whispering ‘I’ll be back in a minute, our kid” as his partner turned over and reached out into the suddenly empty space in the bed. 

Owen pulled the bedroom door closed and sat on the top stair. Before he could change his mind, he pressed the entry in his phone’s ‘favourites’ menu. It rang twice before it was answered.

“Owen, are you OK, love?”

“Yeah. I just, I dunno …” He phoned his parents virtually every week, usually on a Sunday evening when he could hear about Gabe’s latest mini-rugby exploits. But he knew his mam always assumed it would be bad news if the phone went after 10pm.

“It’s OK, love. I’m listening. I was going to phone you in the morning. Your dad and I have been out for dinner with some friends, and we didn’t see the news till about half an hour ago. Are you and George OK?”

“Yeah … Thanks.”

“It sounded horrible.”

“The guy was pissed and shouting the odds.”

“It sounds like the club’ll ban him.”

“I hope so. Enough people witnessed it, including Brad and Jamie and two journalists.”

“Good.”

“I love him, mam.”

“I know you do, love. And I shall be proud to have him as a son-in-law.” His mam didn’t seem surprised by Owen’s sudden change of direction.

“Is dad, you know …?”

“He didn’t do his northern caveman act when you first told us, love, and nothing’s changed! He’s fine about it all and you know he likes George. We’re both proud of the two of you for speaking out.”

Owen was silent for a minute or so, and his mam said gently: “There will always be idiots like the one today. But they’re out-numbered by the good people. Remember that, if you can.”

“Yeah …”

“Is George with you now?”

“Yeah, till Tuesday.”

“Good. Try to relax and have some fun together. Send him our love, and we’ll see you in Newcastle.”

“Night, mam. And say hi to dad and Gabe from me.”

“I will. Sleep well, love.”

***

Owen was lying on the sofa on Thursday evening, wondering if he could summon the energy to walk through to the kitchen to make a cup of tea when his phone buzzed. It was a text from George.

_U OK? x_

_Training brutal. U OK? x_

_Yeah. Interviews ok?_

_Yeah. Half about Sat and half about us. Dodged Qs about Billy._

_Diplomat!_

_LOL. Btw, club’s banned fuckwit 4 life._

_Good! c u Sunday_

_Luv ya!_

_xxx_

***

When the final whistle went, the Saracens players went berserk. Owen knew he was yelling his head off as he and Maro rolled around on the pitch like kids. And then he was sprinting over to where George, his parents and Gabe were sitting. He hugged his mam and dad, and then wrapped his arm around George’s waist and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. George was wearing a hoody and jeans, and looked much younger and more relaxed all of a sudden. 

“Why did you just kiss George?” asked Gabe, who was perched precariously on top of an advertising hoarding.

“Because I love him like our mam loves our dad.”

“Oh. I want to be in a photo with you and your medal. Can I sit on your shoulders?”

“No you can’t! You weight a ton now. Come here and let mam take a picture of us kneeling down with the trophy.”

***

Owen opened one eye and swiftly closed it again. Who the fuck was shining a light in his eyes? Then he cautiously opened both eyes and realised it was the sun bursting through a gap in the hotel curtains. He looked at the time on his phone and swore - it was 9am and he was due to meet his parents, Gabe and George for breakfast at 9.30am. The flight home was leaving at noon and he could guarantee there’d be some very bleary-eyed players on there. Owen grinned happily - they’d bloody done it and won the Champions Cup!

He stood under a lukewarm shower, then turned it to cold for about 30 seconds to wake himself up properly. Once he was dressed, he grabbed his wallet and phone, checked his pockets, then pelted downstairs. 

His family had just arrived as he appeared in the cafe that was a couple of minutes’ walk from the hotel. He hugged his mum, grinned at his dad, swung Gabe off his feet and then ruffled George’s hair.

“Good work all round,” said his dad. “When you sit down to rewatch the footage, keep an eye out for that 28th minute scrum and that defensive positioning just before half-time.”

Owen hid a smile and nodded. Business as usual with his dad, who never took his coaching hat off. His mam had given them both grief on Christmas Day for discussing tactics over the festive meal …

“Have you seen the papers?” asked his mam, who always scoured them for mentions of him and his dad.

He shook his head and she pointed to a pile of them. There were some cracking photos in the Sundays - Owen and Maro celebrating, a despondent Mako trudging off early in the first half, Alex’s smile as wide as the M25 and Billy reaching out a meaty arm to plonk the ball down for the winning try. But the one that dominated the back pages was Owen kissing George.

Owen rolled his eyes and reached for the menu. “I could eat a scabby cat! Got to be a fry-up to celebrate …”

After they’d eaten, they ordered refills of tea. And then Owen shoved a small box across the table to George. In it was a plastic ring from a Christmas cracker.

George burst out laughing and pushed it onto the little finger of his right hand. “Very classy, mate!”

“Have you thought any more about the date?” asked his mam.

Owen glanced at George and they both shook their heads. “I think we’re looking at next summer,” said Owen. “There’s not going to be time before the World Cup. And it’d be good to have a proper bash.”

“We seem to have a raft of best men lined up already!” said George. “Jonny and Ben have made me promise they can be mine.”

“And Jamie is insisting on being mine and making an embarrassing speech!”

“But George, what about your Joe and Jacob? Won’t they want to do it?” Owen’s mam looked worried.

“I like the idea of a Sevens team of best men!”

Owen’s dad, who’d been listening to the whole thing with amusement, burst out laughing. “Me and Mike’ll expect to give you both away. I mean, we don’t want either of you sneaking back home!”

Owen gave him the finger and his mam tutted. She was used to it all, though, and it was just a token protest.

“Looking forward to seeing you in your monkey suit, dad! Have you still got one and does it fit?”

It was his dad’s turn to get the evil eye from his mam, who said: “Not in front of Gabe, you two! And our new next-door neighbour makes jewellery. Shall I ask her if she could make you both special rings? That way you can have her design exactly what you want.”

Owen glanced at George, who nodded. “Thanks, mam. That’d be good. And we can have them before next summer. I mean, we’re engaged. And no one else is going to get their hands on George!” 

His parents laughed and Gabe sniffed disapprovingly at all this soppy wedding talk and concentrated on demolishing a huge ice cream sundae, most of which seemed to be smeared around his mouth to be enjoyed later. But George’s smile was all the approval that Owen needed.


End file.
